Help Will Always Be Given at Hogwarts
by mindofemmette
Summary: Harry Potter wakes disoriented in a muggle hospital as memories of a final face-off with Voldemort quickly return. He learns that in his months of healing, he has become The-Boy-Who-Died-Killing-The-Dark-Lord, but death eaters are still at large. Who better to risk everything going after them than a dead man? But Harry-Evan-won't need to fight forever. Then What? Slash. HP/SS
1. Chapter 1

~ Chapter One ~

_All around him, curses bounced off of magical shields and crashed into the castle walls, showers of rubble flittering down on the witches and wizards below. Harry Potter watched in horror as first and second years huddled sobbing under the remaining house tables, too slow to escape the Great Hall when Voldemort's followers appeared, and now defenseless against the ruthless Death-Eaters. _

_It wasn't supposed to happen here; this was Hogwarts, this was home, this was safe. _

_He saw where Ron stood directing the DA, who had taken guard at entrances to the Great Hall. They were away from the heart of the battle but still in plenty of danger as they fought back any death-eaters attempting to follow the fleeing students. Fred and George Weasley were a furious flurry of red hair and rage as they swirled through the room, Weasley Wizard Wheezes flying in all directions. While George let go wave after wave of Decoy Detonators and Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, Fred hastily un-shrunk shield cloaks to drape over the young children who were bit by bit being rescued from underneath tables and delivered to the DA. The cloaks only protected the minor hexes and jinxes directly, but were fairly protective against the second-hand spells deflected from duelers' shields. The twins never paused, despite the tears streaming down their faces. Lee Jordan had been helping, but had stopped to give his own cloak to a Slytherin first year, too scared even to get out from under the table. It had been the last thing Lee would ever do._

_Harry wished with all his might he was down with them, but with all of the professors trapped in the fight (many of them outnumbered two or three to one), Hermione had insisted that he was the only one with a chance to call the castle to help. _

"_You're the most powerful Harry, and you've said yourself that the castle has a mind of her own. You have a connection with it—her—whatever, and you're practically family to the current headmaster. If there's any student whose pleas might be answered, it's you. _Hogwarts a History_ says that in times of peril, the castle itself has fought back the enemy. If this isn't a time of peril, I don't know what is!" She stood in front of him now, panting with the effort of holding back all the spells cast their way. Harry shut his eyes and blocked it out: Hermione, the students, the Death Eaters, Order members, and Ministry workers still pouring into the Great Hall from the various doors behind the head table. He closed his mind from all of it and searched with all his heart for the source of the warmth and comfort that Hogwarts was to him._

_And there it was. Like a three dimensional depiction of a muggle blue-print, he could see the castle in his mind, see through walls and ceilings to secret passageways and changing staircases above, and feel in his bones how Hogwarts paused to listen to the new voice in her mind._

"_Help us," he pleaded, unaware that the words he spoke boomed through the castle as though a speaker system had been hooked to every room and turned on full volume. "Help me. I'm just a student, but no one loves this place more than I do. Hogwarts is my home…my life. Your staff and students stand, fight, and fall to protect you, showing all the best qualities of a Hogwarts student: Gryffindor bravery, Hufflepuff loyalty, Ravenclaw quick-thinking, and Slytherin resourcefulness. We are out-numbered, and many are still so young…" His voice broke as in his mind he pictured Lee Jordan's lifeless body, and those of a half-dozen other young students, many who hadn't even made it to their first end-of-year feast. The castle saw them too, and she shook with rage and sorrow as Harry's own grief flooded her foundation. "But we are fighting for you!" Harry's mind shouted in desperation, images of the DA, of the Weasley's, of Snape sneeringly fighting to the death with no less than four of his 'old friends' now flashing rapidly through his mind. "Fight for us! Please, please help us."_

_Harry was suddenly on his back on the cold stone floor and he watched in awe as the DA scattered to make room for statues and suits of armor, come to life at the command of the castle itself. Dobby appeared out of nowhere to help Harry to his feet, what looked like battle paint on his face, before leaping into the fray with a handful of other elves only slightly more cautious than their fearless leader. Ghosts that Harry had never seen before burst through the walls, led by Peeves of all people, and soared through Death Eaters, tormenting and distracting to the best of their ability. _

_For a few blissful moments, Harry let himself believe that the worst was over. Then his scar seared and there were screams of terror from the other end of the hall. Voldemort had arrived._

Harry Potter slowly blinked his eyes opened and groaned at the bright light that filled his vision. Colorful blurbs moved slowly at the edge of his vision, indistinguishable without his glasses on. There was a low murmur of voices, and in the background the steady hum of muggle machines. Harry started to sit up but quickly froze, sucking air harshly in through his teeth as every muscle in his body resisted the movement and his head pounded. He was disorientated and couldn't figure out why he was here, wherever "here" may be.

Carefully, he lowered himself back to the mattress and squeezed his eyes shut as he waited for his head to stop spinning. Once it had, he wracked his mind for a recent memory, some starting point to help him piece together what had happened. There were suddenly shouts and running feet from outside his door, and he could hear an alarm going off in what must have been a room across the hall. The commotion brought him back to the battle in the Great Hall, and just like that Harry was stumbling to his feet, grimacing through the pain as he dragged himself across the room, using walls and furniture to help pull himself along. Voldemort.

_Harry raised his head to look across the room, and at once his gaze locked onto the malicious red slits of Voldemort's eyes. They walked towards each other, wands held out and every other distraction in the room reduced to meaningless background noise. As they neared the center of the room, Harry felt the moment arrive and both wizards' shouted spells merged together in a blast of magic powerful enough to overturn the two nearest house tables._

"_Avada Kavra!" "Expelliarmus!" As they had in the past, the two spells locked, and unbeknownst to them the rest of the room stood still to watch in awe. The center bead of light inched toward Harry and he let it, instead watching Voldemort's face to make sure the mad man's attention was focused solely on the golden ball of light where their magics met. _

_Since hearing the prophecy a year earlier, Harry had devoted his time to coming up with a way to beat the Dark Lord in battle. He knew that neither could live while the other survived, but knew with just as much (if not more) certainty that he was not capable of taking a human life. He had learned spell after spell, sneaking away from Ron and Hermione and teaching himself the far advanced magic of spell-writing to combine and alter existing curses. He practically moved into the Room of Requirements to practice, most days emerging only to visit the library, attend classes, and stumble up to his dormitory dead on his feet to shower and change each morning._

_Finally, practicing on one of the many Boggarts the room had supplied for him (the previous ones all having been released by the room out of pity after acting as Harry's spell-dummy one too many times), Harry had tossed aside spells entirely and violently poured his magic through his wand in pure frustration, thinking all the while that he wanted nothing more than for Voldemort to somehow survive his own destruction._

_The magic that had erupted from his wand was pure and wild, its blinding light filling the boggart from within until with a flash of heat Harry was thrown against the stone walls and passed out. When he woke hours later, a Voldemort shaped creature was scuffling in a corner, desperately trying to crawl into the impossibly small trunk Harry was keeping it in while not practicing. His body contorting into inhuman postures and animal noises pouring from his lips. Harry frowned, wondering what would possess a boggart to act in such a way and raised his wand to cast the banishing spell, but when he spoke the words nothing happened. _

_Fear quickly escalating, Harry had tried spell after spell, finally resorting to a simple _lumos_, which resulted in only the faintest glow at the end of his wand, but it was enough to hold his panic in check: he had not lost his magic entirely. _

_It took nearly a full day before his magic returned enough for him to spell himself back out of the Room of Requirement, and he shuddered to think of what his punishment would be for missing double-potions, not to mention the rest of the day's classes. The boggart, pitifully sobbing and clawing at itself the last Harry had seen it, remained in the room. Harry extinguished all the lights as he left in his best effort to make the creature comfortable, but could not for the life of him figure out how to banish the creature back into its small trunk._

_In fact, it was not until weeks later (the room itself having long since dealt with the boggart on its own, though Harry never understood just how the creature was removed) that Harry discovered that the boggart had been unable to morph out of its Voldemort form because Harry had destroyed the very magic within the creature that made it possible. He had literally killed the magic without killing the thing itself. With new drive (and thankfully no more boggarts) Harry had honed the gift on increasingly powerful magical artifacts, teaching himself how to control and direct the power as best he could, and conditioning his body to face the back-lash._

_Now, standing locked curse-in-curse with Voldemort himself, Harry knew that this was the main act. There would be no more practice, no more preparation; he would get one shot at it, and if he failed… well, the prophesy would come true after all, and Harry Potter would go down in history as the Boy Who Died And Killed The Wizarding World With Him. He felt his magic swelling, building behind his hands as though anxious to soar across the hall and fulfill its purpose. There was still one thing Harry had to try first, though._

_Kicking off his shoes and leaving his bare feet pressed firmly to the stone, he begged with all his heart and soul, imagining the words in his head sweeping through the castle wards like birdsong on the wind._

"_Get us out… get us out… I know you can't apparate in Hogwarts, but push us out of the wards… if I do this spell in here the Great Hall and everyone in it could be destroyed, just GET US OUT!" The sensation that followed could only be described as being shot through a human-sized sling-shot. Harry, having braced himself for the eviction, gasped in the earthy smell of the cool night air and caught his bearings before his opponent even realized what had happened. Digging his bare toes into the cool earth below him for purchase, Harry poured every ounce of magic he had through his wand and straight at Voldemort. _

_Harry watched emotionlessly as for the first time, fear filled the snake-like eyes across from him. "It's okay," he thought to himself calmly, reverting back to the self-soothing he had taught himself as a child. "After all, death is but the next big adventure…" Two screams filled the air and the sky crackled with the force of pure magic._

Harry still didn't have his glasses, and he squinted desperately at the whir of motion in front of him as he half rushed half fell across the hall. There looked to be doctors and nurses filling the room in an endless stream, and in the middle of them, sprawled grotesquely across the hospital bed, was the still, lifeless form of the man who had once been Voldemort. Dark streams of red spread down the blankets from where a jagged slit had been made deep in the pale skin of his neck. A rivulet ran all the way down one arm and dripped onto the floor, where a bloody scalpel lay just past the long fingers that had dropped it to the floor with a clatter moments before.

A nurse was babbling on one side of the room, supposedly the one who had been present when Voldemort awoke.

"He started going on and on about Mongols and magic, just kept screaming 'filthy Mongol!' at me, and then raised his hand and hissed like he was trying to curse me in some creepy voodoo ritual, and then he screamed, clutching at his chest. I thought he was having a heart attack, and I grabbed the supply tray straight away and pressed the call-button and he- he just—There was so much blood, and he grabbed it so fast…" Harry blocked out those words though, blocked out the muttering of other nurses and doctors all around him and hung onto one single phrase like a lifeline.

"Time of death, 10:57pm, July 31st." With a choked sob of relief, Harry let his muscles relax fell to the floor. His last thought was _"Happy Birthday, Harry,"_ and then finally, gloriously, he slept.

In fact, Harry slept for a very long time. For weeks he lay in a muggle hospital in Scotland, completely comatose while his body and magic rested and heeled. His nurses would come in every few hours, check his vitals, write on his charts, and fuss over him like worried mothers.

"Lightning-Boy" they called him; he had been brought in with a second man, both suffering extreme nerve damage from what appeared to be a lightning storm. The boy's feet had been bare and his face and shoulder all but smashed from falling tree limbs broken off by the lightning. Both men had needed extensive surgeries, and somehow the boy had woken just hours after his and stumbled across the hall just in time to see his friend kill himself. The poor dear had dropped dead away from the pain and grief.

No one had come to claim the John Doe in all his weeks at the hospital. He was so small and peaceful asleep on his hospital bed, the staff couldn't help but adopt him. If the boy didn't wake up soon, they would be forced to take him off life support. More than a tear or two was shed, and staff began encouraging the young man whenever they had a free moment.

"C'mon now lad, you've had a good rest, it's about time ye join the livin' again."

"You poor dear, why don't you open your eyes now, and we can talk it all out."

When Harry did wake up, however, he was alone in an unfamiliar dark room, and voices outside his door spoke of "Lightning-Boy" and sending his picture to the muggle news stations to help find his family. Harry reached self-consciously for the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead, and gasped in the dark at the smooth skin he found beneath his fingertips instead. Careful not to make any noise, Harry felt around in the dark for his glasses then slowly, painfully, pulled himself out of bed and crept to the attached bathroom.

It was a slow process, tubes and wires needing to be detached before he could move around, but eventually he made it and shut the door quietly behind him before shielding his eyes to turn on the light. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he turned to the mirror and just barely stopped himself from shouting out in shock.

The man who looked back at Harry from the mirror was _not_ Harry. His face was leaner, cheek bones far more pronounced and shaped slightly different than Harry remembered. His chin, which he had always thought of as somewhat flat, was now… chiseled was the only word that came to mind, and it looked almost out of place on his face. His nose too was longer, although perhaps it was just that his forehead had been reshaped in such a way that his eyebrows arched higher than they ever had. His eyes themselves, always a bright green, were almost a golden-brown, as though they had absorbed the light of the magic that had destroyed Voldemort's powers. Certainly a note-worthy change was the way that two months of stress-free, press-free, responsibility-free rest topped with a healthy, consistent diet had left him with a healthy glow and body tone that he had not known since he was an infant

And his scar was gone. Quickly, Harry slumped down onto the seat of the toilet, mind spinning in a hundred directions at once as he tried to figure out what had happened.

He remembered the roar of splintering tree branches as the magic exploded from his wand, and then an impact that knocked the breath out of him before everything went dark. _Clearly, I had some sort of plastic surgery to fix my injuries, but is my scar gone because Voldemort is gone, or did it simply get sliced out during the muggle procedure… and wasn't that a pretty thought…_

Then, a far less pleasant thought crossed his mind. _I must have been in this hospital for ages if my face is already so healed, so my friends don't know where I am. What does that mean for the wizarding world? Do they assume I died with Voldemort? Do they think Voldemort dead at all? How long could death-eaters stay in power even without their master if the wizarding world stayed cowering in fear of a Dark Lord they thought might still be alive? And just because I got me and Voldemort thrown from the castle, there were still hoards of Death Eaters left in Hogwarts. Is it possible that they won the battle even without their leader?_

He had a responsibility to see this war through to the end, which meant he had to get back to the wizarding world. The question was, was he still a wizard?

* * *

Author Note: Fair warning, this story will be slow to be updated, as my primary focus at the moment is on _The Order of the Dragon_. However, random pieces of this story have pestered their way into my notes throughout the writing process of my first story, and as I finally had enough compiled for the first chapter, I thought posting this might appease the characters long enough to leave me alone for a while. An author can only hope, anyway.

As always, questions/comments/suggestions/criticisms/predictions are welcome and appreciated.

-Emmette


	2. Chapter 2

~ Chapter Two ~

It took harry three days to find the spot where he and Voldemort had fought for the final time, but once he did the crackle of magical residue was unmistakable, even after all this time. Harry had to take several deep breaths and still his shaking hands before he would let himself find out once and for all if the magic he had destroyed was Voldemort's alone. He held up his hand and immediately his wand rose up from nearby shrubbery and flew into his palm. The wave of relief that wracked his body actually brought him to his knees, and he didn't even mind the few tears that slid silently down his face.

He spent the rest of the day casting for the joy of the magic, finally letting himself celebrate the weight of Voldemort off his shoulders. He started small and basic, _lumos_ and levitating tiny objects, but quickly built to more advanced spells. He had worried that his own magic may have suffered when he destroyed Voldemort's, but found, luckily, it had not. In fact, he could feel the rush of his magic through his veins in a way he had never experienced before. The sheer power behind some of his spells, entirely unintentional, took his breath away.

Harry waited until dusk then transfigured the muggle clothing he had swiped from the hospital into plain wizarding robes and apparated silently into a shadowy corner of The Three Broomsticks, quickly conjuring a goblet of butterbeer to lean over as he listened to the gossip around him.

"I just don't think I'll ever get tired of celebrating. You-Know-Who gone, _really_ gone, forever!"

"Aye, and the Savior of the Wizarding World right along with him."

"We're all mourning the loss of dear Harry Potter, but he died so that we could live, not keep hiding from the mad-man he killed."

"No, not him, but what about all his followers? What happens when the death-eaters get tired of hiding and the rest of the world has let their guard down?"

"Oh come now, the death-eaters are done, defeated, scattered to the wind. No one's heard a peep out of them since the Battle at Hogwarts."

"I agree, we've spent enough of our lives cowering in fear, it's time we lived free."

"I can finally let my children outside to play without worrying. I am not about to give that up over nothing."

Harry tuned out that conversation, knowing listening any longer would only fuel his anger. _Doesn't anyone ever learn? The only reason Voldemort rose to such power in the first place is because the public sat around waiting for the problem to get 'bad enough' to require a solution, and then realized it was too late to stop it so, instead of fighting it, they waited for a child to grow up and free them from the dark wizard. _Tearing himself from these thoughts, he shifted slightly and angled his ear in another direction, hoping to learn more.

"Did you see today's paper?"

"Mmmm, looks like Fudge has handed out yet another In the Name of Harry Potter award. As if that's really going to save him in the election after all the lies he told about Harry Potter when he was alive, ha!"

"Well, true, but I for one am glad those poor dears are being recognized for their loss. It's not as though we can award Harry Potter himself, so his friends are the next best thing."

"That's fine to say, and I agree that the first few were warranted. That Weasley boy guaranteed an auror position after school, and that muggle-born girl a position as an unspeakable. Even the money to his girlfriend. But guaranteeing his whole quidditch team spots on professional teams? Fudge is just getting despearate…"

Harry's eyes glazed slightly as he stared blankly across the room, sipping at his butterbeer without tasting it and trying desperately to keep up with his thoughts as he took in everything that had happened since his "death." He knew if he returned, he would never be allowed to hunt down the remaining death-eaters. He also knew he now had the advantage of surprise, and power stronger, possibly, than even Dumbledore's. He was the best person for the task. Besides, if he did die (as he had expected to have done already anyway), what of it? No one mourns the death of a dead man. His friends were finally out from under his shadow (mostly) and getting the recognition and reward they deserve, and Harry… Harry never wanted to be a hero.

Decision made, he stood abruptly and strode out of the pub, long black robe billowing behind him. He was so focused on his mission to protect the ones he loved once and for all that he missed the wizened old man in bright purple robes watching him from across the room.

Albus wiped tears of joy from his eyes even as his gut clenched in sorrow. He would know Harry's magical signature anywhere, and even more so the raw, selfless emotions that rolled off him and were drawn like magnets to empaths such as himself. It was one of many skills the old codger had kept hidden, the ability to read emotions; it had come in handy many times.

Feeling the utterly committed determination laced with grief as the boy left was worse than the entire spiral of emotions leading up to it put together. Because Albus had felt it before, every time Harry had resigned himself to death but marched forward anyway determined to save as many others as he could. Dumbledore wanted to run after him, wrap him in his arms and sooth him as any grandfather would wish to offer their suffering grandchild. But whatever new burden Harry had decided was his responsibility to bare, his mind was made up and nothing Dumbledore or anyone else said could change that.

And was he himself not very much to blame? Had he not let the weight of the world rest on the young boy's shoulders most of his life simply by lack of any other hope for Voldemort's demise? Sure, he had called it blind faith, support, destiny, and a dozen other pretty phrases, but it all amounted to the same thing. So even as his mind shouted that Harry belonged in school, he was only a child, he needed saving… deep down Dumbledore knew that they were all excuses that did not apply to the savior of the wizarding world. Harry had not been allowed to be a child for many years, perhaps ever. He had spent his life taking on every impossible task unfairly thrust upon him and whatever his choices now or the reasons behind them, neither Dumbledore nor anyone else had any right to interfere.

xXxXxXxXx

Shortly after recognizing Harry in the Three Broomsticks, Dumbledore had had a legal stasis placed on Harry's wealth and property, the maximum time allowed of three years. He said it was only proper as Harry had no will and a body had never been discovered, and with all of Harry's closest friends backing up the seemingly sentimental decision, the minister had hastily agreed, "out of respect for Harry." In reality, Albus knew that harry would not have known about magical transference of inheritance. That is to say, magic that would not take hold if the deceased was not in fact deceased. His vault would have remained locked to all but him rather than be inherited, and thus Harry's secret revealed. And Dumbledore was quite certain that it had indeed been Harry he had seen that day.

One by one, death eaters' whereabouts (or death-eaters themselves) were delivered to wizards and witches across Britain. Some were very deliberate: Bill Weasly and Remus Lupin led to where the werewolves who had bitten them were disarmed and tied up; Neville Longbottom assured by blood-oath documentation that Bellatrix Lestrange was dead and her body disposed of; as further proof (and greatly appreciated by Neville) his parents' wedding rings were returned to him as well, having been taken by Lestrange as "trophies."

Perhaps most notably was a spring morning staff meeting during what would have been Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts interrupted by Draco Malfoy bursting into the room demanding professor Snape come with him immediately. That very day, Draco made the front page of the prophet as he levitated his father's body into the Ministry, revealing the dark mark on the man's arm then baring his own smooth, unmarked forearm. He declared his father a traitor and death-eater and handed him over to the aurors, demanding magical rights to Head of Household. It was granted almost immediately and his father promptly disowned from the Malfoy family line.

Often, death-eaters were merely left at the homes of aurors or shoved through floos to the ministry. The one notable exception was the several dozen who had joined while in school or barely out of school during those two years of Voldemort's return. Each of these had been left bound in a safe but remote place, the locations of which were delivered to Dumbledore himself.

He had been baffled the first time, arriving at a run-down muggle hotel to find a seventh-year Ravenclaw disarmed and bound with invisible restraints to the bed, dark-mark exposed. Then he had seen the note left him, printed out from a muggle computer: _"A child's voice, however honest and true, is meaningless to those who've forgotten how to listen."_ They were his own words, and he swelled with speechless pride and admiration for the young man who, having lost the most in the war, was also to offer the most mercy.

It was not lost on the headmaster, either, that despite anything else, Harry trusted him with the critical task of determining whether or not this young man should be treated as a criminal or a victim of war. The note had been exactly the same in every case afterwards, and only twice had Dumbledore taken the witch or wizard to the ministry for trial.

At first Dumbledore had worried that the rest whom he spared would be revealed as other death-eaters tried to bargain their own release, but it seemed that Voldemort had for once done them a favor (unintentional though it may have been); having seen after his return how his "loyal" followers had turned on each other at the first sign of loss and how many he had lost in this way, all new recruits maintained their anonymity as a priority. Only parents might know of a youngster's marking, but it seemed that even death-eaters hesitated to turn in their own children on the off-chance it could help themselves out.

The public suspected the legendary Order of the Phoenix was behind it while those within the Order came up with increasingly far-fetched explanations. Dumbledore had chuckled ironically when the Quibbler was ridiculed for suggesting it was Harry Potter back from the dead to protect the wizarding world once more (if only everyone knew how accurate that was, the headmaster thought to himself). All agreed, however, that Dumbledore knew more than he was letting on and if he wasn't worried, they shouldn't be either.

xXxXxXxXx

It had taken two years, but Harry thought he had finally dealt with the death-eater threat. His magic had improved immensely out of pure necessity over that time; his power needed no work of course, but Hogwarts classes would never have given him half the practical experience in spell work, and he had learned more History of Magic researching blood-lines, family estates, wards, blood-ties, family alliances, and so on in his search for hidden death eaters than years with Professor Binns had come close to. Even his potions had improved significantly with the need for various healing and charm-breaking brews (though he would certainly never excel at the subject). Now for the first time in his life he had a future to consider and try as he might to deny it, all he really wanted was to go home.

The very limited times he had had human interaction in the past two years he had gone by the name Evan Bryant. He needed a name that no one would think to connect to the Boy Who Lived, but couldn't stomach the idea of wrapping his identity around a name that meant nothing to him. In the end, he looked to his family. Evan he took from his mother's maiden name. It gave him a piece of his parents without actually having to face his feelings for his father just yet. What he had seen in Snape's pensieve during his fifth year at Hogwarts still haunted him, and he wondered if he would ever again have peace with his father's memory.

His last name had proven more difficult. At first he thought to use something of Sirius', but there was no spin he could make that wouldn't be glaringly obvious and, like his father, he wasn't sure he wanted to look to the man as a role model. In the end, he had moved to the only other person on Earth Harry truly saw as family; Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. There was really only one plausible choice from the headmaster's many colorful names, and thus Evan Bryant came to be…

He had been surprised at the ease with which he registered for NEWT testing at the Ministry. He had expected a great deal of suspicion as to why he had not taken them during his seventh year of school or in the year after. Only later did he discover his age left them assuming he was trying to improve on earlier scores for a new job path. Apparently this was rather common practice. Students having spent a year or two in the 'real world' suddenly regretted their lack of academic commitment as the most exciting and prestigious jobs were continuously considered out of their range of competence.

Harry had been downright shocked a month later to receive an "O" for outstanding in not only defense, but transfiguration, charms, AND history of magic as well. Potions had been "EE" (exceeds expectations), a shock in and of itself. To wrap it up, Harry had been required to select at least one elective exam along with the core classes, and had breezed through Muggle Studies, locking himself a fifth "O" for his records.

That's what brought him here, now, walking up the sloping lawns of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to apply for the once again open position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

xXxXxXxXx

In his office, Dumbledore sighed and closed his eyes quickly, willing back the small tears of relief that threatened to spill out. Fawkes crooned from his perch and ruffled his feathers in delight, and Dumbledore somehow sensed the castle's own version of a sigh of relief. Evan Bryant had entered the wards of Hogwarts on his way to the interview with Dumbledore, and the castle had sang at the return of one of her favored ones, Harry Potter.

Albus hadn't been quite sure what compelled him to offer the interview in the first place. Bryant's NEWT scores were certainly impressive, but he was extremely young for a teaching position, and no teaching experience, not to mention a total stranger. Still, the urge had nagged on, and in the end Dumbledore sent off the invitation with a smile, figuring he would have a nice discussion over tea at the least, and could easily thank Mr. Bryant for his time and send him on his way in the end, no commitments made. Now, as the castle revealed his true identity to man and phoenix, Albus was quite certain that Hogwarts would have a new addition to her staff by the end of the day.

xXxXxXxXx

Harry paused as he reached the castle, ignoring the wooden doors swinging open for him as always in favor of pressing his hands against the smooth stone wall. He sighed in pleasure, the warmth and magic of Hogwarts rushing past just out of reach for the first time in far too long. It had always been like this for him, and it wasn't until that final battle that he began to suspect that it was any different for his peers and mentors.

"I've missed you," he whispered, too giddy even to feel silly speaking to a castle. Then again, she had always seemed to hear him in the past. Harry could have sworn that the stone beneath his fingers warmed for a split-second, as though in response to his words, and he finally strode through the doors of the castle, smiling brightly. He was home.

xXxXxXxXx

Harry rubbed his sweaty palms nervously over his robes for a third time as his eyes darted around the all-too-familiar office. He didn't know if the long separation had dulled his memories, but he didn't remember the headmaster's eyes sparkling quite so fiercely or Fawkes watching quite so interestedly as he fought not to fidget under their steady gazes.

"So…" Harry began without purpose, desperate to break the silence and annoyed that even after two years on his own hunting down death eaters all over Britain and beyond, Dumbledore was still able to reduce him to a nervous second year in mere minutes.

"Ah yes," the old man took over agreeably, blinking quickly a few times as though pulling himself away from a particularly pleasant daydream. "Mr. Bryant, your NEWT scores speak more than highly of your academic capabilities, so that will be no concern. Your proposed syllabi, as well, look overall quite suitable, although I do have a few questions in places… but before we get to that, I am most curious as to what attracted you to this position? Certainly a young man of your ability could lend himself to any number of prestigious careers, and not only does this particular post have a, er, less-than-promising reputation as of late, but your previous experience suggests nothing in terms of teaching. Yes, most curious indeed."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose and he peered over his half-moon spectacles with a twinkle of humor in his eyes that nagged at the back of Harry's mind. Harry had bigger things to worry about, though, as he struggled to form a convincing response. If only he had been able to include his DA teachings and his own life-changing experience at Hogwarts to his admittedly short resume. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he looked into Dumbledore's eyes and simply spoke from his heart, knowing the undeniable honesty of his answer could be his only saving grace.

"The prestige of an occupation holds little sway with me. Besides, I can hardly imagine a position in which one has more influence on the wizarding world than educating its next generation of leaders. This is the unique age in which witches and wizards are both old enough to consider new and challenging viewpoints and young enough not to have become stubbornly cemented in their ways.

"As I indicated, I took some time to travel and explore the world, both magical and muggle, on my own. There are things, important things, which are not taught in any textbook I have ever seen and yet are intimate to our laws and customs. You mentioned reading over my syllabi, so I assume you have noticed the various muggle texts and subjects I have included." Harry paused and waited for Dumbledore's nod before continuing. "The wizarding world hides itself from the muggle world and yet scorns muggles and muggle-borns alike for not knowing and understanding us. Are you aware that the Ministry of Magic currently abides by and enforces over two hundred laws aimed at muggles, and yet not only was there not a single muggle regarded in these decisions, but the lawmakers no doubt have never been taught about the muggle way of life or their perception of the magical world and how it developed."

Harry paused once more, and when he spoke again he was solemn, and Dumbledore saw the familiar look of a young man forced to be wise beyond his years. "Voldemort and his followers went relatively unchallenged for years before their targets moved from just muggles to muggle-borns and half-bloods. How many deaths could have been prevented, how much war could have been avoided, if the wizarding world had taken action from the beginning? Prejudice like that may be one of the most widespread, darkest magics there is, and I've found it is not contained within the magical world alone."

There was a hint of reluctance and apology in Harry's eyes as he held gazes with his mentor, but there was also determination and calm self-assuredness. Dumbledore and others in the magical world hadn't simply ignored Voldemort in his early years, but the headmaster would probably be the first to admit that it was hardly a priority until, as Harry had pointed out, wizards themselves became victims.

"Well put, Mr. Bryant." Dumbledore conceded, the twinkle in his eyes less pronounced than when the interview first began, but still quite obvious. "And that does answer several of my questions about your syllabus as well, yes. However, your sixth year syllabus appears to stop halfway through the year. Could a parchment have been misplaced, or…?" Harry shifted nervously in his seat once more, resisting the urge to flatten bangs that no longer hung in his face over a scar that was no longer visible on his forehead.

"Actually, sir, were I to get the position, and if it was alright with you, I had an idea for something a little different to do with the students that semester." Dumbledore smiled encouragingly at him and Harry ploughed on before he lost the nerve. "The rivalry between houses at Hogwarts is well known in the magical world. While healthy competition can be motivational at times, there comes a point when our differences can begin to tear us apart rather than bind us together.

"I'd like to split the students into small groups, as close to one from each house as possible, and do more of an independent study with them. I will provide a selection of topics to choose from, and each group will select one to research and master over the semester. I will meet with each group individually once a week for only half the time normally spent with a professor, but the other half will be made up by a set time each week for the group to meet amongst itself. They may wish to meet additionally, particularly as their final report and presentation near at the end of the semester. They will be required to present equal portions, and each will be questioned individually by me, but they will receive a joint grade. Each will do only as well as the weakest link, so to say." Dumbledore sat back in his chair, fingertips pressed together and eyes positively sparkling.

"My boy, what an intriguing idea. Quite an undertaking, yes, possibly somewhat more than you are prepared for, but you're certainly young and energetic enough to meet the challenge… why, if I may ask, have you singled out second-semester sixth years for this endeavor?" Harry forgot to be nervous this time, spurred on by the clear approval of his experiment.

"I doubt students under fifth year would be mature enough even within their own houses to handle such independent learning, and OWLs and NEWTs leave sixth year as the ideal choice. There really was no reason to pick first or second semester over the other, except that this will give me a chance to get to know the students before matching them up, which might prove more effective."

Dumbledore beamed proudly at the young man in front of him. He had never planned on turning Harry away from the job, knowing he couldn't possibly be worse than some of the Defense teachers that had served as his own mentors years earlier. Now, though, he was gleefully confident, and hardly needed the encouraging nods and gestures from portraits of past headmasters to confirm his impression.

"Wonderful, wonderful! Everything seems very much in order then. I daresay you will need some time to set your affairs in order, but as soon as you are ready to make residence in the castle, we will be prepared for you. Welcome to the teaching staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Mr. Bryant!"

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Author note:

Well, you this story really wasn't supposed to be updated yet... but I got stuck halfway through my new chapter for the other story aaaaaaand this happened instead. On the plus side, writer's block cured! Hopefully Order of the Dragon will have an update soon. Hope you like this chapter!

-Emmette


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